“The duchess!”
“Aye, sir. ’Tis expected, it is.”
The footman snatched the note from her hand and opened it. “What is this?”
“H-her pet. She’s been ill, she has. She required word immediately on the direction of matters.” Vella stood still as a statue. Panic bordered. She hadn’t another plan if the footman did not believe her. “You, um, know how the nobs are when it comes to their eccentricities,” she said in a rush.
“Ain’t that the truth,” the footman muttered. He patted her hand. “Don’t you worry, miss. I’ll see she receives it straight away.”
“Thank you. Thank you, sir.” Her breath rushed out. “Soon, if you please. She was most anxious.”
He gave a sharp nod, and she watched as he disappeared silently through a swinging door.
Vella backed her way to the shadows where Thomas stood. “Should we wait?”
Without a word, he shook his head, he grabbed her hand and hurried them outside and to the phaeton. He gave her a hard kiss. “I’ll get ye home and return this rig ’afore someone finds it missin.’”
“Of course,” Vella whispered, trembling with nerves and relief.
Twenty-Four
The Faulks’ elaborate ballroom was massive and set up with rows and rows of chairs encircling a grand pianoforte as its centerpiece. Heavy silk draperies held back with gold cording, tipped with fringe framed a myriad of windows and French doors on one side. Hundreds of candles reflected off the panes and left the room stifling.
Gabby entered the ballroom on Huntley’s arm, and the first person she spotted was her brother, Sebastian, scowling at his wife, Rebecca.
“Christ,” Huntley said in a low gravel. “That dress—if that is the one the modiste sent over two nights ago, I must say, your missing supper to have it properly fitted was well worth the sacrifice, Lady Huntley.”
Her husband’s statement slowly penetrated her brain. She tore her eyes from her brother, and Gabby’s gloved fingers tightened on his arm. She stopped. “What?”
He leaned in and whispered, stirring the hair on her neck. “You, my dear wife, are the loveliest woman in the room.”
She glanced at him, her nose wrinkled. “It was a dreadfully outrageous expenditure.”
Desire turned his eyes from blue to midnight black. “Tell me, again, why we are required to make our appearance?”
“Th-thank you… Huntley.” Her voice was its own husky sonance. She shook the fog from her head, snapping her back to the richly decorated room. She tapped him lightly with her fan. “Come, my brother is scowling at my friend. I feel an obligation to save her from his wrath.” She strolled away, ignoring his blatant and suggestive statement, leaving a growling Huntley to follow. “Sebastian, I could see you scowling from across the room.” Her somber brother had never had much of a sense of humor.
He waved a strip of paper. “What is wrong with your dog? And, who the devil names a mongrel after a deranged and murderous literary character?”
“M-my dog?” Gabby’s stomach coiled in breath-stealing knots, and she cast a quick begging glance at Rebecca. She should have confessed her stratagem when she’d had the opportunity.
“Don’t be so dramatic, Duke.” Rebecca’s eyes flashed but her response was smooth and brilliantly convincing. “We just received word saying Lady Macbeth has recovered.” Not so much as an inflection entered her tone. But then… “Really, Gabs, Lady Macbeth? Ryleigh has a point. Is she deranged and murderous?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
Relief poured over Gabby almost sending her into a swoon.
Huntley appeared beside her. How did he move so stealthily? It was extremely disconcerting. And annoying. He folded his arms over his chest and took up Rebecca’s question. “Only when one desires… sleep,” Huntley said, his lips twisting sardonically. He speared Gabby with a lifted brow. “I had no idea she was under the weather.”
Gabby’s body twitched and her face flamed. She rallied. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you, darling, but she was quite unlike herself earlier today.”
A look passed from Sebastian to Huntley that raised the hair at her nape.
“But why send the note to the duchess?” Blast it, Huntley was like a dog with a meaty bone.
“Perhaps I received in it error,” Rebecca said lightly.
“Many do know how close we are,” she interjected. “After all, Huntley and I hadn’t yet arrived. In any event, it’s a relief to hear Lady Macbeth is better. I was quite beside myself.”
“I see Lady Harlowe coming in, Gabby. We should say hello,” Rebecca said. Clearly, she had questions of her own.
